Chapter Three
While everyone else celebrated, noisily heading to the train, Hermione fretted and worried. What was she going to say the next time she saw him? Would he bring it up?
Maybe she would get lucky and he would just ignore her. He had certainly proved skillful at that in the last seven years; she had finally stopped raising her hand at his questions around the middle of sixth year. She recalled with bitterness how he had commented saying, “Not as quick as some of your other professors claim are we, Miss Granger? It only took you six and a half years to learn to keep your hand down and your mouth shut.”
On second thought, he deserved the little nickname he despised so much. Given enough time she was certain she could think of more apt ones. But when she saw him a week later in the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place she forgot her ire and the fear and respect that he inspired in her took its place.
“Good evening, Professor Snape,” she said automatically and then cursed herself for speaking at all. She had meant to avoid the man like the plague, pretty much like everyone but Albus did, but perhaps it was better to end it here and now.
“Ah so it’s back to Professor, is it?” he asked snidely.
“I thought you might prefer it but if you’d rather me call you Sevie, that’s fine,” she snapped back.
“You may call me whatever you wish as long as you harbor a death wish, ‘Mione.”
“I hate that name!” she exclaimed without thinking.
“Oh I had so hoped you would,” he purred.
Of course he had been trying to retaliate. She should have known better than to allow him the upper hand so easily.
“Or how about Hermie? I rather like that one myself,” he continued.
“I’m going to kill Lavender and Parvati,” she muttered under her breath. They had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Because of them she was arguing with the Potions Professor about calling her Hermie.
“What was that?” he asked sharply. “I fail to see how Miss Brown and Miss Patil have anything to do with this.”
“This all started because of some stupid game that Lavender and Parvati made me play this past winter.”
And with that she spilled the whole story. She probably could have left out the part about the four kids and the shack, but once she started, she couldn’t stop. He stood there looking at her oddly, but for the first time in her memory he didn’t cut her off. He seemed transfixed by her tale.
“Is this some sort of sick joke?” he hissed when she finally finished. His face contorted with anger. And then it suddenly dawned on her why he had been so offended at her moniker. He had thought she had been making fun of him. After years of being called ‘Snivellus’ he hadn’t taken to her shortened version of his name and frankly she didn’t blame him.
But had she been making fun of him? She could hardly tell. Normally she was his staunchest defender when Ron and Harry called him names or even when they forgot the title of Professor.
No, she decided, she hadn’t meant it to poke fun but as a term of affection, of endearment. Somewhere along the way she had developed a crush for her hated Potions Professor. The same man that openly mocked her, never commenting on her potions except to criticize, and had never said a kind word to her and she liked him? It seemed impossible.
Why couldn’t she have liked someone sensible like Ron? Ron who liked to have a good laugh, who kept her from becoming too serious, and who was not only her own age but happened to be a decent human being.
She had become one of those girls who liked “dangerous men,” or maybe it was just because he was in a position of authority over her. She had heard of girls liking their professors before but not the hateful, mean, and spiteful ones. It was a ‘sick joke’ as Snape had so aptly put it, a sick joke played on them by cruel Fate.
“No, Sir. I’m afraid it’s no joke. It never would have happened if Madame Pince hadn’t fallen ill that week. Being forced to stay indoors with Lavender and Parvati is a dangerous thing.”
“So it would seem,” he snarled, but he regarded her seriously.
“A shack and four kids?” he asked a moment later. His anger seemed to have abated somewhat. She nodded.
“I hardly doubt you would ever condescend to live in a shack, Miss Granger. And as for children, I detest them. I see enough during the day; I certainly wouldn’t want to come home to four more.”
“Of course not, sir.”
“Besides, I would never marry you. Especially if you insisted on calling me by that horrible name.”
“And I would, I’m afraid,” she said with a mischievous smile.
This conversation had certainly taken quite the turn, she thought.
“Then it’s settled. Misses Brown and Patil are blithering idiots,” Snape concluded.
“Prime examples of wasted potential,” she lamented.
“You give them too much credit by assuming they had any potential to start with,” he said with a scowl.
Ah, there was the cruel and hateful man she knew and loved. She should have known the playfulness wouldn’t last long. Then as though suddenly aware and embarrassed by the duration, and certainly, the content of their conversation, he checked his watch.
“I’m looking for Bill Weasley. Have you seen him?” he asked impatiently.
“No, Severus, I have not,” she replied evenly. She hoped her voice didn’t betray her nervousness. He looked up from his watch abruptly to see her smiling slightly at him.
“Well if you see him, tell him to Floo me as soon as possible, Hermione,” he said before he turned to leave. The only time she had ever heard, and expected to hear for that matter, her name on his lips without the sneer or the undercurrent of sarcasm. It was a beautiful thing, a memory to cherish. Or maybe not. Maybe today would be a turning point and he would be able to see her as a serious adult, (she had used her adult voice after all and to great effect,) and perhaps she would see past his spiky defenses and come to appreciate his inner strength of character.
She laughed at the absurdity of it. It was outrageous of her to even like him, going against all logic. And in the end, logic would guide her.
“What’s so funny?” Ron asked her, coming into the room.
“Oh nothing,” she said quickly. “I was just laughing at something Severus said.”
“Severus?” he asked incredulous.
“You know, Ron,…Professor Snape.” He gaped at her. She briefly considered telling him what had transpired between her and the Potions Professor, but then decided against it. It was too personal a story to tell at the moment.
Besides, if Snape ever found out he would kill her. He had begrudgingly forgiven her for calling him Sevie once but if discovered that she had told Ron and Harry she would never be able to drink anything without being afraid it was poisoned. It would be worse than living with the Twins.
She would bury the truth along with the other inconsequential happenings that never seemed to stick in one’s mind. Someone could bring up the subject of the First Name Ceremony years from now and she would only respond with a vague, “Oh yes, that was something wasn’t it?” Or…He might never know it but he would always be Sevie to her.
TBC
A/N: I’m afraid to admit that this is indeed based on personal experience. I had a professor in college, (whose stinging sarcasm in class reminded me of Snape,) who always called me Miss Kennedy. He missed the First Name Ceremony so I thought I was okay. But he caught me after Baccalaureate, shook my hand and said, “Congratulations Jennifer.” He wouldn’t let go until I called him by his first name, and caught unaware it just slipped out and I replied, “Thanks Cliffy.” Dropping my hand, his only response was “Let’s just stick to Cliff.” I, of course, couldn’t just leave it like that so I stood there like an idiot and explained how the whole nickname came about, (which included me doing an impression of the German professor,) while he stood there looking at me strangely. So there you go…I hope you enjoyed it, one of my more embarrassing moments but also one of my funnier ones.